the door without a word, hands coming away from the front of her robe, the robe falling open as she entered the bedroom.
So LaBrava went to the kitchen where an open bottle of Scotch and tray of melting ice cubes stood on the sink, decided, as he poured himself a good one, to let her lead; he'd catch on soon enough. He picked up the ice tray to put it in the refrigerator and hesitated--why should he?--then had to make another decision and did put the tray in the refrigerator and crossed to the bedroom with his drink.
Jean sat at the vanity in a halfslip doing her eyes, classic nose in the air, eyes indifferent, bare breasts indifferent, pale shoulders rounded in a slouch that described her attitude. He saw her drink waiting among cosmetics. She took time now to pick it up, her breasts rising as her eyes raised, two sets of brown eyes in the mirror watching him. He believed he could outwait them but would have to sit down. Tell Maurice they would be late for dinner, bring the bottle in here and then sit down. He had never played this game before. She was putting on eyeliner now. Then surprised him.
'Have you spoken to your friend McCormick?'
'About what?'
'I can believe he didn't report to you, since there was nothing to report. But you must've been curious enough to call him.'
She sounded like his former wife, tone full of dry innocence, delivered deadpan. Taking the long way around.
He said, 'Let's see. McCormick searched your place...'
'As you suggested.'
He almost smiled. 'He told you that?'
'Your words, according to Jim, 'Why don't you get her permission to have a look around?' I'd call that a suggestion.'
'I'm surprised,' LaBrava said.
'At what?'
'McCormick does care what people think. Wants you to like him.' He watched her move to the other eye. 'But he didn't find anything, uh?'
'Did you think he would?'
One way or another they were going to reach this point. It wasn't something he had to think about anymore. It would be good to get it out in the open. It was time.
He said, 'Probably not, but there was always the possibility.'
She paused, holding the eyeliner away from her, looking at him in the mirror. 'You mean something Richard might have left behind? Fingerprints?'
'Something,' LaBrava said, 'either of you might have overlooked.'
There was a silence. He expected it and waited, leaning in the doorway. It wouldn't be her style to let go, throw a jar of cold cream at him. She would adjust, making her own decision now, staring at him in the mirror, eyes telling nothing, eyes lowering then as her hand went to the vanity table. She picked up a pearl earring, cocked her head as her eyes raised to look at him again and a new Jean Shaw appeared, a playful expression in her eyes now, a glow of anticipation.
He said, 'How do you do that?'
'How do I do what, Joe?' Her tone different, relaxed, ready to be amused. 'How do I manage to... get by, survive? It ain't easy, kid. Learn to adapt, use whatever is at hand. I was just getting to like it here and now it's time to go home, or somewhere. I may go abroad... if anyone wonders where I am.'
'If you think you can afford it.'
Jean smiled, or seemed to. Her head turned slowly as she picked up the other earring, still looking at him. 'Tell me what's bothering you, Joe.'
'How you can do this to Maurice. That bothers me more than anything else.'
'What am I doing?'
'It's his money.'
Her hands came away from her face and she straightened, looking at him directly. 'Maury and I have known each other forever. You have to understand that first.'
'Yeah?'
'He happens to love me.'
LaBrava kept quiet.
'And knows I wouldn't hurt him for the world.'
'How about for six hundred thousand?'
Jean got up from the vanity, moved to the bed where she picked up a white cotton shift, brought it carefully over her head, down past her hips. Standing erect, hands flat on her thighs, she said, 'Do you think I need a bra?'
'You look fine.'
'Not too flat? I've never had the nerve to go without one until lately.'
'It couldn't have been lack of nerve.'
'Modesty, then.' She got her drink from the vanity, held his eyes as she came over. He didn't move. She turned to edge past him through the doorway, her body, her breast, brushing his arm, still looking at him and said, 'You have to be very careful or people get the wrong idea, they think you're immodest.'
'You haven't answered my question.'
'So why ask?'
She took his glass and he followed her to the kitchen, wondering if he should put her flat on the floor, sit on her holding her arms, face to face, close. You give? And not let her up until she did.
She brought the ice tray out of the refrigerator saying, 'I have a question. Did you tell McCormick to search my apartment?'
'What difference does it make?'
'My opinion of you, Joe. That's important to me.'
'Look, one way or another, even if he had to get a federal warrant, McCormick was gonna search your place. I told him to ask you first.'
'Why?'
'So you'd understand what you're into. You'd see these guys are serious, they're the pros and they've got you down as a suspect.'
'Not anymore.'
'Jean?... Listen to me.'
She poured Scotch in their glasses before raising her eyes, mildly interested, patient.
'This isn't the movies,' LaBrava said, 'an hour and a half it's over.' Using a quiet, confiding tone, one she might appreciate and believe. 'This one doesn't end. Once they make it their case they'll take it all the way and sooner or later they bring in this guy, that guy, and your name comes up and they say, 'Oh, yeah, Jean Shaw, the movie star, what do you suppose she was thinking, dream up a scheme like that? Swindle six hundred grand from a nice old guy's supposed to be her friend.' And there's no way, I give you my word, it's not gonna happen.'
In the silence she took time to sip her drink. She said, 'What makes you think I did it?' with little more than mild curiosity in her tone.
'I know,' LaBrava said, still quietly. 'It doesn't matter how or whether I can prove it or not. I know. And if I know then they're gonna find out. What you have to do is get the money. Now, as soon as you can. Give it back to Maurice before you do anything else--and you know what I'm talking about. If it's not too late I'll help you every way I can, see if we can cover it up and hope no one asks too many questions.'
She said, 'Would you do that for me, Joe?' Got sad stars in her eyes and said, 'What a guy.'
LaBrava had to take a moment. He wasn't sure if the line was familiar but it was her kind of line and her delivery. He paused to remember where he was, to bring Jean Shaw back into perspective and detach himself from reality. She knew what she was doing. Performing, but she still knew what she was doing.
With that easy delivery, looking at her drink now, she said, 'It sounds like a wonderful part. Innocent woman unjustly accused, a wall of evidence against her. I'd love to play it.'
'You did,' LaBrava said, 'in Obituary.'
